Turquoise Girl (15 page)

“Me neither,” Justine replied. “But she fits the bill. Abused women are often their husband’s biggest defenders, even after a trip to the hospital.”

Less than a half hour later, they were all seated in Reverend Campbell’s office, down the hall from the chapel at Good Shepherd Church. Ella felt a wave of disappointment as she learned that
Ford was away, visiting a parishioner. Annoyed with herself for getting sidetracked, she focused on the business at hand.

“Reverend Campbell, I’m going to be blunt. What do you know about Valerie Tso’s death?”

“Nothing. I would have told you if I did,” he said flatly.

“We’ve just come from our third interview with Stanley Brewster. I understand you and he had words not too long ago.”

He nodded
slowly. “Okay, I get where you’re coming from now. But I haven’t been holding back any evidence. What I could offer you is, at best, hearsay.”

“Let us sort out what’s evidence and what isn’t,” Blalock said.

Campbell hesitated. “You’re asking me to walk a very fine line here, though you may not realize it. One of our ten commandments is specific about not bearing false witness.”

“This is a murder
case,” Ella said sternly. “I believe you have a commandment about that, too.”

“You’re right, but what I’ve got to tell you is far from reliable information,” he said, then, taking a deep breath, continued. “About a week prior to Valerie’s murder, I happened to overhear two girls talking just outside my window after our Wednesday evening service. I don’t know who was speaking since it was dark
outside, but they were discussing Stan Brewster’s…sexual activities. I called out to them, but all I heard was the sound of running footsteps. I went outside to find them as soon as I could, but by then they were long gone. A week later Valerie was murdered. The conversation I’d overheard stayed in my mind, so I asked Stan to stop by. I already knew he’d had a relationship with Valerie so putting
two and two together…”

“And you confronted him with what you knew?” Blalock asked.

“Yes, but I didn’t attribute the source. He immediately assumed Valerie had complained to me about him, and that I was out to destroy his reputation now that she was dead. He called me a hypocritical SOB and suggested that I was probably a repressed pervert, undressing women with my eyes. You get the drift.”

Seeing them nod, he continued. “But it was his temper that got to me. It’s there, and it’s nasty. Before he left, he told me that if I ever mentioned what I’d found out to anyone, he’d get even. He threw a punch that stopped just a few inches from my nose, then laughed and stormed out. That’s the last I saw him.”

“We already knew he liked to get rough,” Ella said, thinking out loud.

“Yes but
that doesn’t mean he’s the killer. A man with problems, yes. A murderer? God only knows, I sure don’t.”

Ella showed him a copy of the quote the killer had left behind. “Does this have any special meaning to you?”

He read it over. “It’s from Proverbs. I use Proverbs in my sermons sometimes. That particular chapter, in fact, has many lessons I draw on, like ‘Commit thy works unto the Lord and
thy thoughts shall be established.’” He pointed to the plaque on the wall above the file cabinet. “I had that made,” he said. “But I’ve never used this particular verse,” he added, handing it back to her.

Outside the church moments later, Blalock stopped them at the foot of the steps. “We need to sort all this out. What do you say we go get a coffee at the Totah?”

“Good idea,” Ella said. “I
could use something to prop my eyes open a little longer.”

Blalock led the way in his Bureau sedan. Ella stared out at the night, tired, wrung out emotionally, her thoughts jumbled.

When they arrived at the Totah a short while later, they were seated in the corner booth the waitress knew Ella preferred.

“Are you ladies thinking that Brewster left that quote to implicate Campbell?” Blalock asked,
then seeing Ella nod, continued. “Unfortunately, we have nothing to back that theory up. There are other problems with it, too.”

“Like the fact that we haven’t established a match between Brewster’s handwriting and the note, or his alleged squeamishness around blood,” Justine said.

“Montoya lied to substantiate Brewster’s alibi, so he may have lied about the blood thing, too,” Blalock said.
“Since they both mentioned the big-screen TV that indicates that they rehearsed their story. But all that aside, I’m more concerned about the similarities between this case and the deaths in Kayenta and L.A. We’ve got nothing that ties Brewster to those.”

“But there’s still a pattern here. The problem is we can’t see what’s tying all the elements together yet,” Ella said.

“Too many people are
lying and covering up,” Blalock added. “That’s bound to complicate things.”

Ella was about to reply when her cell phone rang. It was Rose, and her voice was shaky. “You better come over quickly.”

“Where are you and what’s happened?” Ella asked, her heart suddenly hammering against her rib cage.

“At my husband’s home,” she said, her voice cracking. “
Bizaadii
’s sheep have been slaughtered. We
heard their cries, but five were already dead by the time he got his rifle and went outside,” she said, sobbing openly now. “And, daughter, the person who did this left a note for you.”

Ella called for backup, anger coiling so tightly around her she could barely draw a breath. “This is no coincidence. We just left Brewster’s. He had enough time to make it to my mother’s.”

“How would he even know where she lives, particularly now that she’s moved?” Justine countered.

“But what else makes sense?”

“You managed to get the church records we needed despite opposition,” Blalock said. “You’ve put pressure on the ministers and the boards of two different churches.”

“And don’t forget the Fierce Ones, or those demonstrators at the power plant site,” Justine added. “Frankly, the list is pretty long, Ella.”

“When I catch whoever did this—and I will—I’m going to take him apart,” Ella said.

As they
got underway, Blalock in the vehicle behind them, Ella called Kevin and alerted him to keep a close eye on Dawn. If someone was out to punish her, Dawn could become a target next. Then she sent a patrol officer to make sure her brother Clifford and his family remained safe. Yet those precautions gave her little comfort. She knew that she and anyone close to her were now in the line of fire.

It was well past midnight when they arrived and, by then, Ella’s stomach was tied into knots. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Her mother would be upset enough over the senseless slaughter of the sheep. She wouldn’t add to the problem.

Ella saw
Bizaadii
standing on the porch, rifle leaning against the rail, and noted her mother had stayed inside. “How’s Mom doing?” Ella
asked, joining him.

“Not well. It’s the waste and pointlessness of the act that bothers her most, I think. She’s trying to calm down, but she couldn’t even hold a cup of tea in her hands, so she’s repotting one of her houseplants.

“I’m so sorry this had to happen,” she said.

Herman nodded but said nothing.

“Tell me what you heard,” Ella asked quietly.

“The sheep were bleating but not like
normal. It was…a peculiar sound. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it,” he added, then shuddered. “Your mother’s dog started barking and your mother said she’d heard a truck, but I didn’t see one when I went outside.”

“No gunshots, so I’m assuming the sheep weren’t shot?”

“Whoever did this used a knife to slit their throats.” He swallowed hard. “There was no gain, no purpose. This person didn’t
need the food they could provide—or the wool. The sheep are a gift from Mother Earth, and to kill them like this dishonors her.”

“I’m sorry, uncle,” she said respectfully.

He looked at her. “Your enemy just became ours,” he said softly.

“I’ll catch whoever did this.”

He nodded but didn’t comment.

“Did you leave everything the way you found it?” Ella asked. It was a still night, so with luck,
they might be able to find footprints.

“All except the note. I’d already picked it up when your mother told me not to touch anything. Your mother will tell you more, but I need to salvage what I can from the slaughtered sheep….”

Ella nodded, understanding. To waste a kill would anger the gods who sent the animals for the
Diné,
the Navajo people. Sheepskins could be used to sit upon in front
of the fire and the meat would become part of a nourishing stew. The intestines would need to be thrown in the general direction of the house according to custom, because it was said that way they’d become sheep again.

Ella glanced back at Justine. “What’s Tache and Neskahi’s ETA?”

“They’ll be here in less than ten minutes. I just checked. But Blalock’s got a lantern and I’d like to get started.
Okay by you if we get a jump on things or do you need me for something else?”

“Go ahead. I’m going to talk to Mom,” Ella said.

Ella found Rose repotting a small plant on top of a card table she’d set up in
Bizaadii
’s living room. There was a fire in the woodstove and the room was pleasantly warm. Two, her old mutt, was lying on a small rug, asleep. He was kept inside at night, which explained
why he hadn’t barked earlier.

“The note is on the back step, weighed down with a rock. The knife that kept it pinned to the sheep is there, too,” Rose said, her voice drained of emotion.

“I’ll take care of it,” Ella said, not at all surprised that her mother had refused to have it in the house.

Rose continued to work the soil mixture with her hands, feeling the dirt slip through her fingers,
finding comfort in what she knew.

“Mom, are you all right?” Ella asked.

“The grass feeds the sheep, the sheep feed us, and eventually we all go back to Mother Earth and become one with her. That, in turn, provides for new life. To know and accept that is to walk in beauty. But slaughter of this kind…” She dug her fingers into the moist soil and stared at it pensively. “This person didn’t need
our animals. He killed them for the sake of killing and that imbalance affects us all. Every action creates a ripple that goes out and affects other things. Without harmony nothing good can come to anyone.”

“Mom, I give you my word, I’ll find whoever did this.”

Rose nodded, then spoke. “I heard a truck…an old truck like mine, but out of tune. And Two started barking. Then I heard the cries of
the sheep so I looked out the back window. I saw a shape out there that didn’t belong but, I thought maybe it was a trick of the light. My eyes don’t work too good at night anymore.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Ella said, placing her hand over her mother’s arm. Rose looked tired, but Ella knew it wasn’t the late hour that was getting to her.

“People kill without thinking,” Rose said. “What if they decide
they want
Bizaadii,
next time?”

Ella took a deep breath. “Mom, that’s
not
going to happen. I’ll have people looking over you.”

“Stop whoever did this before he does more harm, daughter.” Rose looked down at the plant she was working on. “I’ll be up early tomorrow. The Holy People said that there’s beauty in the darkness before the dawn. I need to find that, to see it, to honor Sun with pollen.”

Leaving her mother to her work, Ella patted the dog, whose tail had started wagging, then slipped out the back door. On the step, just as Rose had said, she found the note and the bloodied knife, an inexpensive lock-back model like many construction workers carried nowadays.

Putting on a pair of disposable gloves, Ella picked up the note. The center of the paper, where the knifepoint had gone
through, was stained with blood.

“For many was the blood of one shed.” Ella read aloud, hearing Justine coming up behind her. “Is this Biblical?”

“Maybe paraphrased. I’m not sure of the exact wording,” Justine said. “Sure sounds Biblical to me though,” she added.

“Process the note and the knife and compare the handwriting to the last note. Find something that’ll lead me to the walking piece
of garbage who did this.”

“You’ve got it.”

“What did you find out there?” Ella asked, gesturing to the corral.

“Traces of footprints. I think whoever it was wore moccasins, because there are only flat impressions—no heels or patterns. Whoever killed the sheep was being careful, but I believe it was one person, a man, based on the size of the footprints.”

Ella bit her bottom lip, lost in thought.
“There’s a message to this, and not just what was in the note. But I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I,” Blalock said, coming up.

Ella walked back out with him and surveyed the half dozen lambs that had survived the butcher. They were all huddled together, watchful, spooked. Even in the muted light of Justine’s lantern, beside the shapes of the dead animals, she could see the blood staining the ground.
A sense of outrage filled her as she contemplated the attack that had been meant to terrorize her family.

It took her a moment to swallow back her rage and stop shaking. “If Herman can lead the uninjured animals out of this corral, we may uncover even more evidence,” she said.

Blalock nodded. “Clah, let me work the scene this time. You’re too close to this.”

She didn’t answer, and Blalock continued.

“You don’t want the evidence compromised in any way. A smart attorney might use your link to Rose and
Bizaadii
to discredit whatever we may find.”

“You may be right about that,” Ella nodded slowly. “I’ll take the tribal cruiser if you can give Justine a ride back.”

“Not a problem. Where will you be?”

“I’m going to track Ford down and ask him about the wording on this note.”

“Don’t you trust
Reverend Campbell?” Justine asked from where she was working.

“Don’t get defensive, Justine. Ford is better at this type of thing. He was a cryptographer and he’s used to breaking codes and reading between the lines. He may be able to help me figure out the real message the perp was leaving for us.”

Ella went inside and found Herman in the kitchen, preparing the knives and other items he needed
for the grim task still ahead. “Once my people finish going over the area, we’ll need you to separate the uninjured sheep from the others so we can take another look inside the pen,” Ella said.

“Just tell them to let me know when. The sooner, the better. The animals that haven’t been harmed are very frightened, and there are ritual steps that need to be taken with the others.”

“I know, and we’ll
do our best to work as quickly as possible. My team knows their business, so just do whatever they ask.”

“You’re leaving?”

She nodded. “I’ll check with Mom again, then I’m heading out. There’s someone I need to speak to right away.”

“Are we in danger?” Herman asked.

Ella saw Herman had carried his 30-30 rifle into the kitchen with him. “I’ve had your home placed under surveillance, but I’m
his real target, not you,” she said. “I think the reason you were hit tonight was to keep me and my team preoccupied and away from our other work.”

Ella stepped into the living room and saw her mother sitting on the chair, the potted plant now on her lap. “Mom?”

She looked up. “I was just trying to figure out where to put it,” she said, looking a little lost.

Ella placed it near the window.
“How about here? It looks pretty,” she said.

Rose nodded absently. “I suppose that’ll be all right.”

“Mom, don’t let this keep you down. I
will
find the person who did it. That’s what I do, and I’m good at it.” Ella saw the first glimmer of hope in her mother’s eyes.

“An act like this puts things out of balance, and bad luck always follows,” she said. “The one who killed our sheep doesn’t realize
that yet. But he will.”

“
I’m
going to be his bad luck, Mom, count on it.”

“Maybe I should have my son do a
Hozonji
for us, a Song of Blessing…or maybe a Blessing Way, if he has time.”

“I’m sure my brother would be happy to do either of those for you,” Ella said. A Blessing Way was a purification ceremony, a way to start anew and stop looking back in fear. It would do her mother a world of good.
“Call him, Mom.”

Ella had already arranged for an officer to check on Clifford and warn him to stay on his guard. Later, she’d call Clifford herself. As she walked outside, Ella remembered the words of restoration sung during the Blessing Way ceremony,
Hózhone háaz’dlíí,
“it is beautiful all around me.” It was just what her mother needed now.

Ella called Ford’s cell number and waited. Reception
on the Navajo Nation was iffy at best on a cell phone. But there was good coverage the entire distance between Shiprock and Farmington, and though the battery on her own phone was getting low, the call went through.

Ford answered on the first ring. “I’ve been hoping you’d call,” he said. “I’ve been worried about you. I’ve heard all kinds of stories about things going on today….”

“No doubt,”
she said, aware of how quickly gossip traveled. “I need to see you now about the case. Where are you?”

“Home.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Ford lived just off the reservation in the community of Waterflow, located north of the old coal power plant. He’d lived in the parsonage behind the church for some time, but had eventually opted to buy his own place rather than share a home with
Reverend Campbell, also unmarried. Since no one could actually “own” land on the Rez, he’d ended up here, a stone’s throw—literally—from the reservation borders.

His modest two-bedroom home was on an acre of what had once been an old alfalfa field. There were parcels of residential property all around him where agriculture had slowly given way to the developers. Ella walked up the flagstone path
from the driveway and knocked. Ford answered a second later, his giant dog, Abednego, beside him. The dog, a cross between a giant schnauzer and something of indeterminate background, stood calmly next to Ford, a toy monkey clenched in his mouth. He was Ford’s constant companion, and Ella knew that Ford loved the mutt he’d found as a puppy beside an irrigation ditch and hand raised.

Ella was
tall, but on all fours Abednego nearly reached her waist. “I think he’s grown,” Ella said.

“You’re not wearing your boots, so you’re shorter tonight,” Ford answered with a chuckle.

Ella bent down to pet him, and the dog wagged its stubby tail. “At least I know you’ve got a great guard dog.”

“You’re right about that. Strangers take one look and back away.”

Ford led the way into the kitchen
though a living room so crowded with bookshelves that it looked more like a library. “I just made a pot of chamomile tea. Would you like a cup? It won’t keep you awake.”

“That’s the least of my worries. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much tonight, if you want the truth, not well anyway.” She described the scene she’d left behind at her mother’s house.

Ford’s face hardened. “Your mother and her
husband weren’t hurt?”

“If anyone would have tried to hurt my mother, Herman would have pulled the trigger without hesitation. He’s not at all helpless.”

Ford watched her for a moment. “But that isn’t why you wanted to talk to me at this hour, right? Let me guess. The butcher left something for you? Another note?”